Benedetto Il Primo Dolce Affanno
by Ceasefire
Summary: Cavallone was never quiet. Cavallone was never still. Cavallone never took his eyes off him. By the time Kyouya had realised this, it was too late. 18D, WAFF.


A quick D18 fic I wrote for a friend, for a drabble request meme.

The title of this fic means "blessed be the first sweet agony".

Amano Akira owns Reborn, and this fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only.

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Cavallone was never quiet. Not during their constant training sessions as he laughed wildly and brandished his whip, pointing out his weaknesses and flaws like it was his business to do so. Not when he met with Sawada and the rest of his crowding lot, when he was always eager to give his opinions and offer his advice to the herbivores, who so desperately needed it in the first place. Not during their little "dates" (as Cavallone insisted on calling them) when the expensive sake flowed freely and he took the chance to talk about the trivial happenings in his own life, and dared to get curious about Kyouya's. Not when Kyouya took Cavallone back to his house - into his domain - and pressed him down against his futon, drew moans, gasps and husky, entrancing words from his lips that would make the purest person on earth blush.

By the time Kyouya had realised this, it was too late.

Cavallone was never still. When Kyouya ran at him, tonfas raised and ready to strike, he laughed and dodged away with flawless precision - provided one or more of his men were close by - as if the strike had no chance of hitting him in the first place. In meetings he never sat still; he was always tapping one of his feet, uncrossing and recrossing his legs, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop, looking at Kyouya and trying to get his attention. When they went on their "dates", he always tried to grab Kyouya's hand, hug him so tightly that Kyouya was afraid that he'd never let go, direct Kyouya's face towards his own so he could kiss him long and deep and slow. Not when Kyouya had naked beneath him, unhurriedly moving inside of him while Cavallone's fingers clawed at his back, while his toes curled against Kyouya's hips.

By the time Kyouya had realised this, it was too late.

Cavallone never took his eyes off him. His eyes remained fixed on Kyouya while they sparred, like a carnivore stalking its prey and that alone made Kyouya smirk and think he might not be as blonde and friendly and herbivorous as first assumed. Not when Sawada called them all together to discuss alliances and strategy, and although Cavallone always answered immediately when questioned, everyone knew who he was staring at and it frustrated Kyouya more than he'd ever admit. Kyouya always caught him staring at him while he ate his meal and Cavallone's own food went cold; when he pointed this out, Cavallone would simply smile and keep on staring, and Kyouya swore he'd bite him to death at the first given chance. Cavallone watched Kyouya as he slid down his body, leaving open-mouthed kisses along splashes of blue flame to see if they tasted different to the rest of his skin, before he finally began teasing sensitive flesh with the tip of his tongue and watched with satisfaction as Cavallone's eyes finally, finally fluttered closed.

By the time Kyouya had realised this, it was too late.

Kyouya took ten years to notice that he noticed all of these things about Cavallone. It took him ten years to realise that he didn't mind that Cavallone chose to lie so close to him to rest after they'd driven each other to submission. It took him ten years to realise that he didn't hate going to Sawada's meetings half as much as he usually did when Cavallone was in Japan. It took him ten years to realise that Cavallone had memorised his favourite restaurants, favourite foods, favourite drinks, favourite desserts and that he ordered them all for him every time that they ate together. It took him ten years to realise that he stayed awake long after Cavallone had fallen asleep, sated and spent and still bared down to his skin; Kyouya would simply watch him sleep, entranced by the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the occasional twitch of his lips, the deep red mark he'd left on pale skin where he'd bitten Cavallone's neck.

Kyouya was hardly one to resign himself to destiny or fate, but he was too preoccupied by the comfortable warmth blooming in his chest to care. Sighing a soft sigh, he leaned over and brushed his lips against Cavallone's temple, a simple but tender sign of affection.

By the time Kyouya had realised this, it was too late.

He was in love.

**END**

Comments are always appreciated.


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